


Night Patrol

by Catsmeow



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Friendship, Gen, POV First Person, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:33:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsmeow/pseuds/Catsmeow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has to make the rounds before he can sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Patrol

**Author's Note:**

> Set early in S1. Written in April 2007

I can't sleep. I should be able to, now that it's all over. I'm safe in my bed, in my house, all is quiet and that's the problem.

There was a lot of noise earlier today – natives yelling, P-90's chattering, staff weapon blasting, and the sound of SG-1 slapping aside branches, feet pounding the dirt, as we ran hell bent for leather, hoping to get to the gate far enough ahead of the hostiles that we'd have time to dial up and get our asses home. We were mostly successful. Mostly. I got smacked by a well-aimed rock. Those damn slings can really put some force on a projectile, enough to break bones sometimes. A head shot can kill. I shift again, trying to find a position that doesn't make my shoulder ache quite so much. But that's not why I can't sleep.

I was at the DHD, trying to discourage the natives who were racing pell-mell toward us with mayhem on their minds, while the rest of my team scampered to safety through the wormhole. Carter went through first, then T-man. Daniel darted up the stairs, and as I moved to follow, something whizzed past my head and Daniel went down face first into the stone dais– hard. No time for subtleties, I grabbed the neck of his jacket, dragging him though the wormhole with me as I kept up cover fire with the weapon in my other hand.

We came so close to not having any injuries this time out. Daniel's got a big bruise on his back to match the one on my shoulder from the rock that laid him low. But that's nothing compared to what hitting the platform did. Both shins are bruised and scraped from hitting the sharp edge of the top step. There's a cut on his forehead, both eyes are blackened, and he has a concussion from landing face first. He's damn lucky he didn't break his nose. He's learning quickly, handles himself well for a civilian, but then again he's got a lot of incentive. He told me that every time he steps through the gate he's hoping to find his wife _right there_. Poor guy did everything right today, but sometimes you just get bad luck.

Doc Frasier patched him up then released him into my care, along with a big list of instructions and a bag full of medicines. I've been in the service long enough, been banged up enough myself, that I already know what the instructions say. Despite his protests I take Daniel to my house the better to keep an eye on him and get his stuff settled in the spare room. We spend the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening quietly watching TV in the den, which mostly consists of semi-napping interspersed with trips to the kitchen for medicines and snacks. I shook him awake at 9:00 for his evening pills and sent him shuffling off to bed.

I didn't last much longer than he did. A little over an hour later I headed off to my room, falling asleep right away despite the ache in my shoulder. At oh-two-twelve my eyes popped open and they've stayed that way for the last half hour. The silence will not let me sleep. Giving up, I fling back the covers and head out on a perimeter check. I prowl around my darkened house, double-checking locks on doors and windows that I know full well are secure because I double-checked them before I went to bed. This circuit is less about safety measures and more about avoidance. I know what I really want to check on, but…it's silly. It's not something that should matter so I try to ignore it. Room to room, I wander aimlessly through the shadows, before I finally give in. Striding down the hall on soundless feet, I open his door.

Half opened curtains let in enough moonlight for me to see that Daniel is sleeping curled up on his side as he usually does. The blankets are half kicked off - also as usual. Knees drawn up, back to the window, his top hand is tucked under his cheek, the bottom hand flung outward onto the bed. His long hair covers the bandage on his forehead. He's okay. He's alive and still breathing. Inside, I feel something relax. It's weird, I know. I mean, he's fine, I know that, just a little worse for wear. He's been roughed up before and given the nature of our jobs I'm sure it's going to happen again. But sometimes in the night I get nervous so I look in and his gentle snores are the most glorious sound in the world. Reassured, I softly close his door, careful not to disturb him.

Now, I can rest.

FINIS


End file.
